


Qui fait mal

by GirlRunningTheWorld



Series: Mozart fics [1]
Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 19:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlRunningTheWorld/pseuds/GirlRunningTheWorld





	Qui fait mal

Salieri licks the skin, tasting the sweat and heavy scent of fear, that is a gorgeous combination. It makes his fangs long and sharp, as he tightens his grip around the Mozart's wrists. He protests with a weak scream, but this is just an echo of his struggle - he has already given up.  
He doesn't want to play along too much, so he bites down. He can hear a shaky painful moan, but he doesn't care at all - he finally got his meal.  
He suckes the blood down, nearly purring at the sweet taste, as he hears a quiet “s-stop” but of course he doesn't. Who in their right mind will let the captured bird fly away?  
Mozart tries with all his strength to free his hands but unsuccessfully, he just makes it more painful as he tears his own skin on the fangs.  
\- Agh! - he cries out and Salieri stops to see the damage - he doesn't want to alert anyone by Mozart's sudden disappearance. And he still loves his music, even if he hates its composer.  
\- Don't wriggle, or you'll make it worse, - he says in a threatening voice. Mozart only whimpers and shakes his head, tears in his eyes clearly visible. It doesn't have any effect on him. He has seen numerous times how his victims cried, begged and pleaded him to let them go. This time doesn't make any difference.  
He laps on the wound once more, gathering all the blood that oozed out while they had their small talk.  
Mozart doesn't wriggle, but now he has to catch his limp body because his stupid victim just relaxed all the muscles to try another way out. It could've work with someone else, who were more distracted, but not him.  
So, he is irritated now. Irritated enough to grab the man and pull him up until he is on his two feet. And lift him up in the bride style.  
\- Wh-what?.. - he doesn't get to end up the phrase as Salieri spreads out his wings. 

It's been so long since he got a chance to fly, so he is kind of grateful for this opportunity. Night Vienna is a beautiful sight, the one that is inspiring poets and musicians. Though, he doesn't have neither time nor desire to admire it - he has far more important business that is oddly quiet in his hands. When he cautiously looks down, Mozart has his eyes closed and is curled up on himself. He is also shivering, from the cold or the fear, or maybe both. He silently observes the view with something akin to human tendress, only this tendress is the one of that predator feels towards its prey.

They arrive to his place in two or maybe three minutes. He places Mozart down and grabs tightly his hand. Then he rings the bell.  
\- Coming, coming! - shouts Frau Lindenhof.  
\- Don't say anything, - he hisses at Mozart but the poor creature is already too frightened to speak.  
\- Oh, my dear, you're late. Come in, come in, - she coos as if he was a child. He sighes and goes into, dragging Mozart along.  
\- Frau Lindenhof, this is the famous composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, himself, - after that Mozart bows his usual reverence and clumsily stands up as bloodloss is already kicking in.  
\- What a charming young man! - exclaims his housekeeper. He rolls his eyes. Of course that is the first impression that Mozart provides.  
\- We were composing together and would like to continue. So don't disturb us, - he says with the tint of authority in his voice. It would cause a lot of troubles if she came in on them enjoying themselves. Or just him, as he doubted Mozart would appreciate their next session.  
\- Oh but of course, - she clasps her hands together. - Maybe some wine?  
\- Good idea, - he muses.  
Having complied with the formalities, he excuses himself and heads to his room, dragging Mozart with himself. 

\- Are you going to kill me? - are the first words Mozart whispers in a long time. He sits on the bed, boots off as he was instructed and hugges his knees as if he were a child. He is a child, in some aspects.  
He doesn't answer.  
He takes two steps closer and sees Mozart straining. Now, they are practically touching. He wants to be closer. And so, he brings them.  
Of course, Mozart tries to move him off, but this is useless - he is much stronger than the fellow composer. Though Mozart doesn't struggle as he push him down on the fine cloth. Too exhausted, he must be.  
His jabot is already undone and all Salieri has to do is to turn gently his head to the other side. Mozart doesn't resist at all, only whimpers as he knows what will come next.  
Fangs.  
And once again the blood leaves his body. 

When he is done Mozart has already lost his conscious. He might just taken too much, he thinks lazily as he licks the remained blood from the wound.  
Sleeping, Mozart is a lot easier to deal with. He could have used the opportunity if he was interested in the act itself. But he isn't, not even a little bit. Sometimes, it disturbed him but now he is used to the lack of desire. Not even the prettiest women and the most handsome men lit that fire he was told about. Nor could Mozart.  
However, there is one more thing thing he has to take care of - Mozart's memory. It would be bad if someone besides his victims found out his nature. So he harshly shakes the composer until Mozart is awake. Then, he catches his eyes and uses his hypnosis.  
\- Today you drank too much and tomorrow you won't remember anything. Repeat after me: “i drank too much and don't remember even a single thing”.  
Mozart obediently repeats and immediately falls asleep again.  
Good. Now, everything is settled.

They meet again at the court. Mozart is not so energetic as he always is, though as irritating as ever. Sometimes he thinks if he envies his energy and youth, his cheerfulness and naivety. But screw this, he doesn't. He admires his music, that's all. Mozart is a genius, he can't deny this, and he envies this talent.  
But maybe, just in the corner of his mind, he wants to be like him. To be human once more. To be able to feel something other than hunger and irritation and envy and despair.  
Hopeless dreams, aren't they?  
But all he left with is the darkness inside him and the night at Vienna streets.


End file.
